A is for Average

I lost my hairbrush.  This will become relevant shortly.

This morning I awoke in the dark (how lovely is this spring-ahead business?  Seriously!) and I imagined it must be time to wake up.  J-Man was going to get in the shower, my mouth was dry, it had to be wake-up-and-go time.

It was 5:30.  I don't have to be at work until 9ish, emphasis on the ish.

You'd think, certainly an average girl who adores sleep as much as I do would looove to wake up and not need to go anywhere.  But wrong.  I was mind-stingingly awake.  And tempted (surprisingly not by my POAS addiction) to look at my numbers.

In the test prep biz you can imagine numbers matter.  For my job it's not just numbers though, averages.  And not just averages, weighted averages.

And despite the amazing data collection and technology in my hands, the internal system only resets every Tuesday.  So every day for the last week it's been me and my little calculator trying to accurately discern what my numbers would be.  Every day. Because I'm a mathlete, and I like to crunch numbers

I knew it would be ok, but I needed to know it would be great.  Tony the Tiger great.  (speaking of which, did you see my Tigers with their last-second shot to earn them a spot in the dance this weekend?)

And at 5:40am I was busting into J-Man's shower to tell him that he married an allstar whose complex, weighted averages hit the mark.  Sweet!

I stumbled around and patted myself on the back for a while until I realized that J-Man had left, the sun was still not out, and I needed more sleep to stay a nice person.  So I did what any reasonable girl does to lull herself to morning naptime - I turned on a murder crime drama.  Flavor of the month: Bones.

When the alarm went off so uninvitedly another 30 minutes later, I blurrily watched the Today Show anchors decide if teenagers should drink at home with their parents and eventually stumbled to clean and prepare myself for the day.  Except.

I lost my hairbrush.

It's nowhere to be found.  And what does a girl do with no hairbrush and less than 15 minutes until the shuttle leaves for the metro?

Nothing.  Well, not nothing, I found a comb in J-Man's razor kit and at least tamed the edges and ends.

But what do average girls do?  I ask about average girls, because I like to wonder what that even means (ha, a great math pun there, folks).  I'm probably not average.  It's ok, I've gotten over it.  No one is.  We're all above average in some arenas and below in others.  For instance, I'm above average when it comes to number of teen dramas watched per week by a twenty-something, height, shoe size, days it takes for folded laundry to reach the drawer, months taken to get knocked up.  (Did you see what I did there?  I took a below average stat and turned it into above average so I feel special.  I wonder if I'm above average at that too?).

Then there are the below averages.  Like, tolerance for spicy food, interest in listening to music, ounces of water consumed daily, ounces of any hydrating liquid consumed daily, tolerance for questions that people already know the answers to.

It evens out I think.

Except, when I lose my hairbrush.  And I don't know what to do.  And I overslept.  And the number 86 keeps making me smile.  And the box of granola bars on the shelf is empty.

Would an average girl throw on her already-worn sweatshirt, no bra, jeans and tennies and roll with it?

Or pretty please can that make me, and anyone else who thinks that's a grand solution, above average instead?